


Kiss Me Better

by HC_AnonA



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Warming, Coming Out, Dresses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Genderqueer Character, Gentle Sex, I say that, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Self-Indulgent, Short & Sweet, a pinch of fluffy fluff, and a drop of emotional turmoil, as if this isnt just, but like implied, even more fluff at the end, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25289134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HC_AnonA/pseuds/HC_AnonA
Summary: The water closets are supposed to remain hidden, but Impulse gets a glimpse at what Zedaph's wardrobe contains. A conversation and something more ensues.
Relationships: impulseSV/Zedaph (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 119





	Kiss Me Better

**Author's Note:**

> I tell myself I'll take a break, I tell myself I'll finally finish proofreading Birthday Surprises, but nooo, Zedpulse wants to be soft and shit. >:|  
> Anygay, here's soft porn.

The strip of concrete with quite a few lamps attached to in order to signify the ‘actual sun and moon’, as Zedaph had explained when Impulse had first noticed and curiously asked about it, seems quite tacky to Impulse, a bit too much, what with its function being as questionable as it is and the amount of work put into a project that can easily be replaced by a simple clock seeming comical to him, but, and Impulse smiles fondly as he listens to Zedaph happily ramble on about how he’d built the contraption, how long it had taken him to figure out the timings and just how amazingly useless it is, it’s on par with the level of creativity that Impulse has come to expect and admire from his boyfriend. Impulse cannot deny the fact that, despite its uselessness, it is quite a remarkable work of redstone, either way, and it fits right in with the rest of the contraptions filling Zedaph’s cave, an impressive build due to the sheer amount of thought out behind it.

Somewhere in the middle of said cave, a nicely decorated hole in the ground that, given the chests and item frames carefully organised in its walls, must be Zedaph’s storage system, opens up in front of them. Before Impulse can compliment everything that Zedaph has managed to build in the time they'd spent not seeing each other as much as they both would have liked to, what he’s turned this, at first, normal mountain into, before he can even inquire precisely why they are still in the overworld if Zedaph needs to have some bedrock broken, the sound of redstone firing, accompanied by a soft click, fill the room and, before Impulse has time to register the fact that Zedaph must have accidentally stepped across a pressure plate that triggers a whole chain reaction of the redstone variety, something else manages to grab his attention first.

Impulse blinks as a few trapdoors just on the edge of the storage hole swing open, armour stands shooting up from beneath them and, suddenly, Impulse’s view is filled with all manner of pastel fabrics and quite the amount of frills and tulle. Impulse blinks again. There's glitter catching the light in little multicoloured sparks that look almost mesmerising. Only once a squeak and a flurry of steps that, swiftly, grow closer as they approach and, then, continue past Impulse, reach his ears, does Impulse turn to look at Zedaph, who is rushing towards the armour stands, pressing a few buttons that Impulse hadn't even noticed at first with a particularly red face and trembling hands. His eyes are wide and not in the way they are when Impulse surprises his boyfriend with an unannounced visit, no, Zedaph looks almost  _ afraid _ .

‘Zed?’, Impulse asks, confusion clear in his tone as he watches the armour stands and their colourful dresses and flared out skirts and lacey accessories, which have a small blush forming on Impulse's cheeks, sink back down, the trapdoors closing above them, but Zedaph has his back to him and Impulse isn't sure what his response means, whether he's seen something he wasn't supposed to see, even if they've never really hidden anything from each other and a few dresses are, in Impulse's mind, not necessarily that big of a deal, despite their existence being a bit surprising. And so Impulse tries to breach the subject as subtly as he can.

‘Anther contraption?’

He  _ tries _ .

Impulse makes sure to make his words sound as gentle as he possibly can, smiling at Zedaph and keeping his pose casual, relaxed, because Zedaph look a bit too nervous for impulse’s liking, almost as if he feels guilty over… Something. Impulse isn't sure, but he concludes that it must be connected to the sudden appearance and, respectively, the just-as-sudden disappearance of the clothed armour stands. He watches Zedaph turn slightly, wringing his hands together, fiddling with the brown sleeves of his cardigan that he usually has neatly pulled up to his elbows, but which now almost cover his hands at their full length, biting his lower lip and avoiding impulse’s gaze. Impulse frowns.

‘I...’, Zedaph begins, but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head, swallowing and then continuing, ‘It was one of my closets.’

And Impulse tries to focus on his original question of why Zedaph would be so nervous with Impulse seeing a few of his less practical outfits, but his mind decides that the ' _ my _ closet' part of Zedaph's reply is more important, because it implies that those had, also, been Zedaph's outfit, because it implies that Zedaph has either worn them at one point or is planning to do so in the future, because Impulse feels like slapping himself due to how heated his face becomes at the mental image of Zedaph in a dress.

A sniffle grabs Impulse's attention, however, and, suddenly, Impulse finds himself narrowing the distance between him and Zedaph, reaching him in just a few strides and placing his hands, as slowly and as tenderly as he can, on his boyfriend's overly tense shoulders, who has once again turned his back to Impulse and who has his head hanging down, his voice cracking against an unsuccessfully contained sob.

'Zed? Zed, what's wrong?', Impulse asks with an urgent tone, not daring to move Zedaph right now, but slightly tightening his grip on his shoulders to show Zedaph that he is there, seeing as Zedaph always seeks physical contact when in emotional distress, but Impulse would never want to assume. Zedaph melts where he stands, but he is still looking down as he shakes his head, his hands coming up to rub at his face, another sniffle that sounds, to Impulse's growing concern, almost pained, so Impulse slowly rubs his thumbs in circles over Zedaph's shoulder blades, his eyebrows pinched with the worried expression on his face.

'I… Well, it's just…', Impulse listens intently, moving slightly closer to Zedaph so he can lean back against Impulse, which he does, going almost boneless in Impulse's grip, were it not for his still shaking shoulders, 'Don't you think it's  _ wrong _ ?'

Impulse's eyes widen as he opens his mouth, only able to exhale, his words not yet caught up with whatever reaction his brain is working through right now, but, all of a sudden, it clicks. Zedaph is  _ insecure _ about owning more feminine clothing, feels nervous because Impulse had accidentally seen it and, all at once, Impulse's worry turns into something softer, something more comforting.

'Zed, whatever outfits you wear, it doesn't-', Impulse begins, but Zedaph suddenly whips his head around in order to look back at him, his purple eyes wide with something all too similar to a growing terror that breaks Impulse's heart combined with this shyness that Zedaph almost never exhibits.

'It's not just the clothing', Zedaph says, suddenly, his words barely loud enough for Impulse to hear and almost too quick to be understandable, but he  _ does _ catch them, despite that, and his frown returns once more. An inkling of an idea develops in his mind, but Impulse would never want to assume, he tells himself again, so instead, he looks at Zedaph with a warm gaze and a soft smile, moving his hands away from his shoulder just so, leading them to lay on Zedaph’s hips, the touch featherlight, and Zedaph shakes his head once more and sighs as he leans back into Impulse even more, his own hands covering Impulse’s and squeezing his fingers with what Impulse now knows are nerves.

‘What is it then, Zed?’, Impulse asks and cranes his head forward, his lips brushing against the back of Zedaph’s neck, his warm skin smelling faintly of redstone, dust and something sweeter, almost flowery, something that, no matter how many times Zedaph manages to trip and fall into the ocean while on his way to Impulse’s base, never seems to wash away. He can hear Zedaph inhale and Impulse just tightens his hold ever so slightly, trying to portray, through his half-hug, that he is here for Zedaph l, without seeming too overbearing. Impulse isn’t sure he strikes the balance between the two, but he doesn’t let go of Zedaph.

‘I… Well, uhm...’, Zedaph begins, albeit, a bit shakily, ‘I’m just not entirely… And I mean, I wasn’t before, either, it’s just… I don’t want to, I’m  _ not _ … I don’t  _ think _ I fully identify with being a man.’

And Impulse smiles, then.

His eyes wrinkle with a reassuring smile as he wraps his arms around Zedaph’s waist, lifting his partner up ever so slightly as his embrace tightens. Zedaph breathes out sharply and clings to Impulse, but doesn’t seem to want to let go, regardless. 

‘That’s ok’, Impulse whispers as he lowers Zedaph back to the ground, ‘What do you identify as?’

The bedrock breaking service that Impulse was supposed to get done is all but forgotten as he looks into pretty purple eyes, the light of the well-hidden light sources giving Zedaph an even softer look and Impulse feels his heart rush in his chest, as it always does, when he lays eyes on Zedaph. It’s not a thing that will change any time soon, Impulse thinks.

‘Well, I… I don’t mind being referred to as he… Or they. Or she. Actually, I think, for now, I might still prefer he, but it’s not-...  _ It’s not something set in stone, really _ ’, Zedaph ponders out loud, mumbling the last few words, but then his cheeks flush pink and his his eyes widen, suddenly alert, ‘A-and I don’t think that being feminine has anything to do with, like, dresses and… Stuff! That's not it, it's not! But it does, it is… For me? On some aesthetic, personal level, I suppose...’

Impulse’s smile widens as he brings a hand to Zedaph’s face, caressing his cheek softly, brushing his thumb over the pink, freckled skin under his eye.

‘Your identity is yours to discover and label or, if you so wish,  _ not _ label’, Impulse tilts Zedaph’s head upwards using the hand he has on his cheek and stoops down a little so he can place a kiss on Zedaph’s forehead.

Zedaph closes his eyes and, for a second, his face seems so peaceful, relaxed and calm in a way Impulse rarely gets to see, unless they wake up together in the same bed and Impulse is up before Zedaph himself is, but then his nose twitches and it is as though this whole facade crumbles as Zedaph furrows his brows, as he draws his lips in a thin line, his chin quivering with what Impulse knows are held back tears. If Impulse thought his heart was breaking because of Zedaph’s earlier fear, then it is now being torn to shreds, stabbed into mercilessly, as Zedaph’s whole face tightens in an attempt to not openly cry in front of Impulse.

‘Zed...’, Impulse breathes out against his forehead as he draws him closer in his arms, ‘It’s ok, Zed, I’m here.  _ I’m here. _ ’

They stay like that for a few moments, embraced together on the lip of the storage area hole, Zedaph trembling in his arms and Impulse patting his back and trailing gentle kisses all over his face as he comforts his partner. At one point, when Impulse is still whispering all of his love and pride and affection to Zedaph in what he can only hope is soothing to him, Zedaph pulls back, slightly, and looks at Impulse with a watery gaze and a wobbly smile. Impulse cannot look elsewhere, not when he has his whole world in his arms, not when the shaky smile turns blinding with what Impulse knows to be pure, unbridled joy.

‘Thank you’, Zedaph murmurs and cups Impulse’s face with both hands. After years of being in a relationship with him, Impulse already knows how much physical intimacy matters to Zedaph, so he lets himself be drawn into a short, sweet kiss, lets Zedaph bring their foreheads together as they gaze at one another with tender adoration. Sufficed to say, they are distracted with one another for a bit longer, which explains why Impulse manages to get back to his base, a day later, with half of his schedule derailed and a silly smile on his face that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter how much he tries.

He is glad that Zedaph had trusted him with this, is glad that they’d had this conversation, even if he knows they'll have to talk about it again, when the need arises, because he knows how much Zedaph might have needed someone to come out to, and while Impulse himself is no expert in such matters, he is absolutely sure that he will do his best to be there for Zedaph in whatever way Zedaph needs.

* * *

It’s a week later that Impulse comes by Zedaph’s base again, having heard about his golf course test play from some of the other hermits. Impulse knows he doesn’t need an excuse to see Zedaph, he knows that he is welcome, as Zedaph himself puts it, to swing by the wonderful cave of contraptions whenever he fancies doing so, but Impulse  _ has _ been busy this past week, and he knows Zedaph has, too, but that doesn’t negate just how much Impulse has missed his partner, doesn’t affect the amount of giddiness which Impulse tries to put a hamper on as he flies toward the mountain range growing closer and closer the more rockets he fires.

The sun is already touching the horizon by the time Impulse lands in front of the iron door, its dying light painting the world in a particularly fiery array of pastels, but Impulse thinks of a view that’s even more beautiful than the sun setting over the sea in the distance, his own base a tall silhouette of dark grey against the sky, and that is bright eyes and an even brighter smile. The thought of Zedaph makes Impulse’s heart beat that much faster as he stretches his hand out and presses the button above his head, tip-toeing inside Zedaph’s cave slowly.

A few more contraptions seem to have been added since the last time Impulse has been here, he notes, as he eyes up some of the redstone supplies strewn around the stone floor, ready to be stuffed in a shulker box at any given moment or turned into another invention, but Impulse isn’t here to look at Zedaph’s contraptions, no matter how fascinating they are, no, he is here for his partner and, Impulse frowns slightly, he isn’t exactly sure where to find him.

‘Zed?’, so Impulse calls out, scanning the interior of the cave just in case he spots a blur of yellow and brown or a pair of purple eyes that Impulse adores.

Instead, Impulse hears a thud, something hitting the stone floor somewhere to his right and, as Impulse walks towards the supposed source of the sound, loud footsteps echo through the cave. By the time Impulse reaches the furnace, which Zedaph likes boasting about, sometimes, what with it being an  _ especially _ useless mechanism, which Impulse cannot help but smile at, it finally becomes clear to Impulse exactly what, or rather,  _ who _ had produced the noise. 

Impulse  _ does _ find Zedah.

His bedroom, or at least, Impulse thinks it is a bedroom, given the bed plopped down right in the middle of it, is dual in a way that has Impulse tilting his head, the red of the nether materials clashing with the soft hues of the other side, the textures as contrasting as day and night and yet, somehow, working together. Impulse isn't sure what this is supposed to represent, but he would bet his diamonds, or maybe Zedaph’s diamonds, on this being yet another one of his contraptions. But the decoration of the bedroom is the least of Impulse’s worries, especially as he sees the figure halfway sitting up on the floor next to the bed, the light violet fabric matching Zedaph’s eyes nearly perfectly as he jumps up, eyes wide and shoulders drawn up to his ears as he looks at Impulse.    
The shock in Zedaph’s eyes melts into fond surprise as he eyes Impulse, which genuinely makes Impulse want to swoon, even if for just a second, but it’s like Impulse’s brain refuses to work properly anymore, so the whole subtle welcome of Zedaph’s gestures flies right over his head as Impulse, not necessarily consciously, focuses on the  _ impossibly _ short dress that Zedaph is wearing, the violet fabric barely reaching his mid-thighs, puffy as it is, a sweater thrown over what Impulse can still tell is a particularly decorated bodice, the tanned skin of his thighs peeking through the gap left between the skirt of the dress and white thigh-high socks that have Impulse frozen in place.

‘Impulse…?’, Zedaph asks, his calm tone a definite contrast between their conversation a week ago and their meeting now, but Impulse, dazed as he is, can still make out the edge of concern in his tone, so he approaches Zedaph, one hand on the back of Zedaph’s neck as he tilts his head up, the other a firm weight on his waist. Zedaph’s smile turns softer, then, the edges of it less accentuated, but it seem more real to Impulse, all because of it, so he brings their faces together, their lips resting inches apart. 

‘You’re still nervous, aren’t you?’, Impulse asks, his brows furrowed as he regards the way Zedaph avoids looking at him, his thighs rubbing together even from the angle Impulse sees them at, which prompts Impulse to bring them even closer together, their lips nearly touching when Zedaph responds.

‘Maybe… Maybe a little’, he confesses, bashful gaze pointed down, even if Zedaph clings to Impulse’s forearms and leans into his touch, the fabric of the dress shifting with the slight movements.

‘What can I do, then? To make you not be, you know, nervous around me?’, Impulse chuckles a little, Zedaph exhaling slowly as he turns his head away from the close proximity that Zedaph so often uses as an excuse to start something more intimate.

Impulse tries to follow his gaze, but that only leads to him staring at the slightly messy bed, which confuses Impulse a little bit, making him wonder exactly what Zedaph is thinking, whether maybe, because he appreciates physical intimacy so much, he might want them to cuddle on a bed, but Zedaph has never minded where a spontaneous cuddle session would take place, unless-

_ Unless _ .

Impulse blinks a couple of time as Zedaph smiles sheepishly at him before letting go of Impulse and slipping away from his grasp gracefully, his socked feet soundless against the cold, stone ground. He lets himself fall onto the bed, the puffy skirt of the dress flaring arond him and, though his face is still tense with what Impulse knows is some sort of anxiety that Zedaph can’t seem to wipe away, despite Impulse’s support, which Impulse just takes a sign that he should do something else to help Zedaph with this whole thing, which he is willing to do, his heart more than ready, filled with all of his love as it is, but there’s something inviting in the expression as well.

So Impulse takes a step forward, and then another one. Zedaph still seems a bit flustered by the time Impulse makes it to the bed, but then, just like that, he grabs a fistful of Impulse’s shirt and pulls him on top of himself, giggling as Impulse all but flails on his way down.

Impulse shakes his head and, before he has time to even register the fact that he is lying between Zedaph’s legs, his hands placed on either side of his torso, and the fact that their faces are just as close, or maybe even closer,  _ but still not touching, not quite yet _ , than before, Zedaph decides it is time to make his wishes particularly clear, because it is then that Zedaph says what Impulse must have, on a subconscious level, realised Zedaph wants from him at this very moment, his words a breath against Impulse’s lips, his body pliant beneath Impulse, the material of his dress and sweater soft where it barely brushes against Impulse’s exposed arms.

‘Make love to me?’

Impulse chokes on whatever it is he wanted to say. His whole face heats up as he looks at Zedaph with something akin to reverence in his gaze, his fingers itching to grab him and to hold him gently, to touch him as he deserves to be touched, but, for once, Impulse isn’t sure if this is what Zedaph  _ needs _ . Impulse can bring him comfort, can give him the pleasure that Zedaph so often turn into a mess for, but Impulse has an idea taking shape in the back of his mind, growing in a corner where Impulse’s logic is still somewhat alive.

‘You would like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?’, Impulse asks with a loving expression on his face, which doesn’t change when Impulse, all too suddenly, takes ahold of Zedaph’s waist and flips them over, resting his own back against the pillows arranged next to the headboard of the bed, with Zedaph, a bit surprised as he is, his eyes glazed over and his lips parted, sitting in Impulse’s lap, the strip of skin showing between the thigh-highs and the dress almost too much for Impulse, who wants nothing more than to bite into the tanned expanse of skin that he knows, from multiple other endeavours, is freckled  _ just so _ , the dots on his skin not that easily seen unless one knows where to look, but he has a plan, somewhat, that he needs to follow, so Impulse just shakes his head and brings his attention back on Zedaph. He seems to understand what Impulse wants, because his face goes entirely red, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he bites at it. Impulse moves forward, not much, but just enough to bring their lips together, the softest contact between their lips just enough to jolt Zedaph out of his dazed state.

‘Uh...’, Zedaph says, eloquently, and Impulse smiles at him before allowing his hands to slip further down his partner's body, noticing the change between the fluffy sweater and the smooth silk and tulle pf the dress, until his fingers meet warm skin, Zedaph twitching in Impulse’s lap as Impulse cups the backs of his thighs and brings them even closer together. 

It doesn’t take much exploring of Impulse’s hands for him to realise that, beneath the dress, Zedaph is fully bare, the socks slipping down his thighs as Impulse brushes his fingers against his arse, barely containing the urge to just  _ knead _ , the sounds that Zedaph makes as he is fondled not really doing much to help, either, but, somehow, Impulse manages to control himself. He noses at Zedaph’s neck, subtly leading Zedaph into tilting his head to the side to allow Impulse more kissing access there, which Impulse takes advantage of immediately, kissing his neck softly, nipping at the heated skin gently, barely a brush of lips and teeth, but Zedaph still lets out these soft, breathy,  _ needy _ sounds that make Impulse’s head spin.

‘Zed, sweetheart, how about you ride me instead?’, Impulse asks as his fingers venture further along their path, only self-control helping Impulse to not just do as Zedaph had asked, to not just love Zedaph like Impulse knows he wants to be loved, but he does allow himself to run a finger over the, surprisingly soft and, more importantly _ , wet _ rim of Zedaph’s hole, a small gasp that swiftly evolves into a groan drawn the only response Impulse’s already empty brain can muster. Zedaph mewls, then, throwing his head back, exposing even more of his neck, and his legs tighten around Impulse, no doubt already feeling the bulge that Impulse is doing nothing to hide. He isn’t even sure when he got hard, but Impulse isn’t all too ashamed by it, instead, he grinds up into Zedaph and revels in the sounds he manages to draw out from between pink lips.

‘I- Mh, that sounds-  _ Ah! _ ’, Impulse doesn’t let him finish, even if that hadn’t been his goal, but he simply can’t help himself when he lets one of his finger slips inside Zedaph’s loose entrance, his heart already beating too loudly in his ears, his whole body thrumming with the need that Zedaph always instills in him, which is particularly heightened right now, with Zedaph squirming in his lap, over his swiftly hardening cock. 

‘ _ Fuck _ , y-yeah, I’ll… I’ll do it’, Zedapah manages to say between moans as Impulse doesn’t hesitate to test just  _ how _ relaxed Zedaph already is down there, not able to help the way his imagination runs wild with the assumption that, maybe, Zedaph had already opened himself up, that he’d laid here, on his own bed, legs thrown open and a hand, hidden by all of the fabric of his dress’ skirt, fingering his own hole, but Zedaph's words make Impulse stop, all of a sudden, and stare at Zedaph’s flustered face, at his half-lidded eyes, at the bit of drool leaking from the corner of his lips, something he knows Zedaph isn’t even aware of at this very moment.

‘Yeah?’, Impulse asks, thrusting another finger inside Zedaph, almost purring at how easily he takes it, the other hand Impulse has on him still gripping one of his cheeks and holding his arse spread open for easier access, ‘You’d look so beautiful doing it, too...’

Impulse notices the wistfulness of his own tone, but he doesn’t mind it, not when Zedaph moves his hips so that he can grind down on Impulse’s clothed cock expertly, not when Zedaph moans as Impulse scissors his insides with his fingers, even if he knows he can already take him.

‘I wouldn’t, I-’, Zedaph stutters out, his breathing harsh, a whine punctuating each exhale as Impulse draws his fingers out and awkwardly reaches the fly of his own trousers, trying to keep Zedaph balanced on his lap despite the urgency with which Impulse tries to take his own cock out.

‘You are, though, you’re always so beautiful, so lovely’, Impulse counters, almost triumphantly, as he gets the zipper down and the button popped open, shuddering as he rubs himself, once, twice, before aligning his dick to Zedaph’s entrance and waiting, ‘And you look gorgeous when you take me, you know that?’

Zedaph inhales sharply and the way his eyes roll back almost makes Impulse thrust right up into him, but the flimsy control he still has over his own body and the idea of Zedaph taking control of their situation and fucking himself on his cock keep him grounded. Somewhat.

‘ _ Impulse _ ’, Zedaph moans out as a shiver runs down his spine. He brings his hands to Impulse’s chest and pushes him to lay down, using his own arms to balance himself on top of Impulse as he raises his hips, the head of Impulse’s dick catching on his rim, which makes both of them gasp.

Slowly, almost too slowly, Zedaph begins lowering himself down on Impulse, his face contorted with pleasure as the head pops in and as Impulse brings his hands to his hips once more, not there to move him about, as he might sometimes do, but rather, to help balance him as he fucks himself down on Impulse.

Zedaph is loose and so very hot around Impulse, his walls clamping down on him slightly, the pressure already taking Impulse’s breath away, and Impulse has to dig his fingers into the soft material of the sweater beneath his hands to keep himself from simply thrusting up, allowing Zedph to go at his own pace.

‘You’re doing great, sweetheart’, Impulse whispers and Zedaph pants a little bit as he takes more and more of Impulse’s cock, the slide making them both almost feverish with desire, but, after what feels like a small eternity spent in that limbo of  _ too much _ and  _ not enough _ , Zedaph is finally, once again, seated in Impulse’s lap. The large skirt conceals the sight of his own cock buried inside Zedaph, but if Impulse is being honest, not seeing it and still knowing what is going on beneath all those layers is a turn-on in and of itself.

‘ _ I love you _ ’, Zedaph moans as he takes moment to breath and to prepare himself. Not even a second later, he starts moving, his thighs flexing as he raises himself off of Impulse and lowers his hips back down, going slowly, a soft sound barely that is muffled by Zedaph biting his own lips escaping him, and Impulse is mesmerised. He hums as the pressure increases and decreases over his cock, nearly growls at the slide of their bodies, at how good Zedaph feels inside, at how much Impulse already feels his own pleasure curl into a tight little coil inside his gut, and looks up at Zedaph, looks at his close-eyed expression, at the crimson splash of colour on his cheeks, at the way his shoulder shake as he takes Impulse, at how the flesh of his thighs bounces with Zedaph as he moves. It’s almost too much and Impulse knows that, at this point, his grip on Zedaph’s hips has become quite painful, but Zedaph doesn’t seem to mind, only accelerating the rhythm of his thrusts, moaning loudly as he tries to get Impulse’s cock to brush against the sensitive bundle of nerves that Impulse know how to find all too well. Impulse almost wants to direct Zedaph just a bit to the right, to show him how well he knows his body, to make him squeal, but he abstains.

Zedaph’s chin meets his chest as he lets his head fall forward, the slap of skin against skin echoing around them, the vastness of the cave doing nothing to silence the sounds that bounce off of the walls of the little bedroom. H is almost wheezing now, when he doesn't moan out Impulse’s name, and Impulse wants to take pity on him, but he knows, deep down, that this is sort of intimacy lies much closer to what Zedaph needs right now, so he just keeps looking up at Zedaph with the most loving face he can muster, not that he thinks he could ever look at Zedaph and  _ not _ have a lovestruck expression on, as multiple people, mainly Tango, always tell him.

‘You, y-you feel’, Zedaph begins, his voice shaky with both emotion and overwhelmed sensation, so Impulse spreads his fingers around Zedaph’s waist, rubbing his hip bones with his thumbs in a way that he knows Zedaph finds calming, even if the simple action creates quite the contrast between Zedaph riding him like there’s no tomorrow and the gestures of affection Impulse is so fond of.

‘Go on, sweetheart’, Impulse encourages him and Zedaph lets out another drawn-out moan before raising his head, his purple eyes shining with tears, the smile on his face, quivery as it is, nearly blinding with the way it makes Zedaph’s whole face light up.

‘You feel so good inside me, Impulse,  _ you're so…  _ ’, Zedaph bites his lips again and his thrusts turn chaotic, making Impulse moan out his own pleasure. He is still holding himself back, but he is teetering on the edge, and, like this, with his own dick already throbbing as he approaches his end, he isn’t sure how much longer he can last, or, worse yet, how much longer he can just sit there and let Zedaph fuck himself while he gives all that he has to offer without actually getting as physical as he’d like.

It is like Zedaph senses Impulse’s struggle because, with a high moan, he nearly collapses on top of Impulse, his hips still moving, even as he loses his rhythm, as he loses himself in the ecstasy. 

‘You like it like this?’, Impulse asks, voice rough with the pressure he can feel building and building, pushing him higher and higher towards his own orgasm, but he wants to makes sure Zedaph comes first.

‘I do, I  _ do _ ’, Zedaph whispers, and it almost sounds as though he is pleading for something, which makes Impulse pull Zedaph closer to him, his body almost snapping with held back energy.

‘ _ Do you need something else, Zed? _ ’, Impulse ends up asking, his words soft and spoken directly into Zedaph’s ear, which makes him whimper and brings his hands to Impulse's shoulder, almost falling back again as he attempts to raise his torso off of Impulse, but a single look into his wide eyes is all Impulse needs to understand. 

Impulse plants his feet into the mattress and fucks up with a low grunt, the choked moan Zedaph lets out music to his ears. They move together, now, and Impulse can no longer control himself, chasing his own pleasure as he tries to bring Zedaph over the edge, their bodies rubbing against each other, Impulse’s dick leaking inside Zedaph as grows close to his own end and, after what feels like the most tense minute in Impulse’s life, where all he can see is Zedaph’s overwhelmed face, his mouth open in a silent scream, all he can hear is the sound of flesh hitting flesh and, in that one moment, Impulse feels like he’d never want to be anywhere else, the string that had been holding Impulse together  _ snaps _ .

They come together, as far as Impulse can tell, but his own mind goes fuzzy, the cotton of his thoughts too clumped together to decipher for himself, but his whole body turns rigid as he spills himself inside Zedaph, the pressure of Zedaph squeezing around him as he,too, comes, drops of his release hitting the bottom of Impulse’s shirt from beneath the puffy dress, almost too much.

‘Oh, sweetheart’, Impulse sighs when, finally, his muscles relax, when he lets himself collapse on the soft bed, Zedaph flopping down on Impulse as well, his limbs little more but jelly at this point. Zedaph doesn’t move from where he melts on top of Impulse, but when Impulse tries to shift his hips in order to slip his softening cock out of Zedaph’s even looser entrance, Zedaph tenses up and mewls softly.

‘Can’t you… Stay inside a little longer?’, Zedaph asks and his voice sounds so raw that it makes Impulse’s cock give a painful, interested twitch. Impulse sighs, happily, and brings his arms around Zedaph, embracing him as he always does, despite the connection between their bodies. He feels quite a bit more tired than when he first entered Zedaph’s base and, distantly, he thinks he will have to pat himself on the back later for coming after the day is almost over, the prospect of spending the night here making the warm feeling in Impulse's heart even more fluttery than it already was.

‘Ok, ok’, Impulse chuckles, ‘But don’t complain about how you’re too sticky later.’

Zedaph snuggles further into Impulse’s arms and nuzzles at the space between Impulse neck and shoulder, which, oddly enough, reminds Impulse of a kitten.

They will talk more about this in the morning, about what Zedaph needs, and not just sexually, Impulse knows, but for now they are both happy to just sleep entangled in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Supportive bf Impulse is my new kink yall.


End file.
